He confirmed what she had feared: he was not familiar with the written language she knew. It had been worth a try. She nodded at his question, gesturing once more between the markings and herself.

“One Who Writes the Wind.”

She liked how that sounded. His speech patterns fascinated the painted dame, each clipped syllable and strange rhythm another puzzle to unravel. She wondered what kind of place he came from. What were his people like? Were they all as large as him? Did they all speak in that curious way? And why was he here at all? That mystery lingered between them, just as her own name remained a mystery to him.

Then, he made a suggestion.

Devika’s ears flickered as she considered it. After a moment, she stood and padded back to his side. Beneath the marks spelling out her name, she carefully scratched another word into the dirt:

DUSKBREAKER.

She then pointed at the word before turning to press her paw lightly against his chest, making it clear: this was his name.

Perhaps there was hope for them yet.

Turning back to the letters drawn on the ground, she began pointing to the ones they shared. Both names began with “D.” That was convenient, he should be able to make that connection easily. The other matching letters might be more challenging. Maybe the “K,” with its sharp, distinct sound, would stand out to him, but she wasn’t holding her breath for the “E” and “A.”

Still, even if he only remembered her as “D,” it would be a step up from nameless.